But kill me rather than commit this outrage. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. ” She laughed softly to herself. " Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. She looked at him gravely and squinted. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. I will lay them all at your feet.
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